


Said you're seeing right through me // Could be pulling you to me

by sillu



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Gen, High school/Youth AU, One smooch for good measure :), Reverb 2020, Slow burn vibes but smooshed into 3k words, Sort of coming-of-age esque?, ft. Death the Kid as a disgruntled matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillu/pseuds/sillu
Summary: Change is hard, and time is slipping through her fingers like melted ice cream. Between the stress of exams and some budding feelings that she doesn't want to look at too deeply, everything seems a little overwhelming at the dawn of summer. But with her three best friends at her side, Maka knows she can weather any storm. Reverb 2020 <3
Relationships: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68
Collections: Chibi! Reverse Resonance Bang 2020





	Said you're seeing right through me // Could be pulling you to me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to share this story with you all! Written with love for my incredible artist, ochako999, for Reverb 2020. :) My other author partner, l0chn3ss, wrote a lovely piece as well - if you search The World That Only We Can See // Transparent World, you'll find it! Big love to makapedia for the beta eyes as well <3 I hope you enjoy!

Zero exams down, six to go.

In the late spring heat, pencils scratch against paper in an otherwise silent classroom. The seconds seem to thud onward, measured by the even _tick-tock_ of the clock on the wall, marking the moments that remain in the first of many final exams. A fan at the back of the class, whirring back and forth, ruffles papers and hair and nerves as it punctuates the pencil-scratching.

At the front of the room sits a blackboard, empty of assignments. _It’s almost the end_ , it seems to say. _There’s little left for you here._

In an otherwise nondescript class of students, there are a few standouts. In the front row sits a dirty-blonde whirlwind of a girl in a plaid skirt, equipped with pigtails, a well-stocked mechanical pencil, and raw determination. She scribbles as fast as she can, nose to the paper. The more she writes, the more confident her smile becomes.

To her right sits a less speedy scribbler, a black and white-striped cataclysm of a boy with an impeccably pressed uniform, hand stilling on his paper every time a question stumps him. Occasionally, the tapping of his foot joins in with the pencils and the fan as he plays the off-beat in the final exam symphony. In the back of the class when a piece of paper rips, he flinches just a little.

In the back corner near the door sits another boy, a beryl-blue hurricane, removing each of the corners from his test paper. He has already finished his exam, because he writes the first thing that comes to mind. He believes this makes him wise - a somewhat dubious prospect. If anything, it makes him impulsive. _But_ _if you can’t make the right decision on the fly, then what’s the point?,_ is what he would say.

Finally, in the other back corner sits one final boy, a red-and-white rhapsody, staring out the window with a song in his soul. His test lies forgotten for the moment as he taps out a soft rhythm on the desk, quiet enough for only his ears. His eyes drift around the classroom with affected boredom, though when his gaze lands on the girl in the front row, something stirs behind them.

At this moment, the girl in the front stands to take her test to the front, and she happens to glance his way. She sends him a questioning look, but quickly turns to the front again, breaking the contact.

As he looks back out the window, there’s a flush in his cheeks that has little to do with the heat.

* * *

One exam down, five to go.

“Dude. _I did so good!_ ”

They walk in a line, shoulders brushing, necks craned towards the sun. Newly escaped from the heat of the classroom, their shoulders are lighter, the white and blue of their uniforms mirroring the sky.

“Did you answer every question this time?” asks the rhapsody, adjusting the headband in his hair while he squints against the sun.

“Um, _yes_ ,” the hurricane says. “Last time I just didn’t because--”

“You got distracted by a _fly_ ,” says the whirlwind.

“I was on a mission!” he insists, punching his fist in the air. “And I _caught_ it!” He holds up his fingers in front of the cataclysm's face, clicking them together like chopsticks.

The other three shake their heads before they all stop in tandem, watching the road ahead wind away from the school.

“You going home?” the girl asks, to no one in particular.

“Nah.”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“... You want some company?”

And so they lie in the grass, as they have many times before.

“Hey, Black*Star?”

The hurricane turns his head, blue hair against green grass. He’s a walking Google Earth. “Yeeees, Maka?”

“What are you doing this summer?”

He turns his head back to the sky. “Dunno yet. Might get a job.” He pauses. “Think your dad is looking for help?”

Her mouth thins into a line. “I don’t know. You can ask him.”

“Awww, c’mon, I don’t wanna talk to---

“And _I_ do?” she says, turning onto her side, away from him. “Just get Sid to talk to him for you, then.”

“Sid’s been… busy,” he says. Maka’s expression softens a little in the silence that follows.

“What about you, Kid?” she says, glancing up.

The cataclysm sighs. “I’m sure Father will find something for me to do around the building.”

“Around the _school_?” Black*Star says. “Gross.” 

“I’ve worked here every summer for years,” Kid says, nonplussed. Black*Star looks genuinely surprised and a little guilty.

“Whoops. Guess I blacked it out?” he offers.

“Yeah, probably,” says the final boy, holding a hand up to shield red eyes against the sun as he looks at the group. “That sounds like your worst nightmare.”

Maka pulls out her notebook and starts to doodle, looping letters filling up the page. Eyes trained downward, she asks, with a carefully controlled nonchalance: “How about you, Soul?”

He is no better, still hiding behind his hand, and his response comes out as one word: “Iunno.”

“...Well,” Maka says, plucking herself up to look at them all, now. “I want us to do loads this summer. Adventures and fun and new _experiences_! So you’d all better be ready.”

“Yeah!” Black*Star says, reaching up to high-five her. “We’re gonna take this town by _storm_.”

“... Let’s get through exams first?” Kid says, raising his eyebrow at Black*Star as he visibly deflates.

They’ve spent many afternoons like this since they were small, laying outside and letting the grass and wind and sun soothe their worries. A group thrown together by chance, but stuck together by choice.

The words become indented as she traces them in her notebook, over and over again:

_I hope things never change. <3 _

* * *

Two exams down, four to go.

Maka enters the library early, her focus already shifted into science-study mode after the previous day’s final. Already set up, Kid waves her over, and the two of them sit in silence for a while, the flipping of pages occasionally breaking the silence.

Finally, when she glances over at Kid, her eyes land on the book he’s reading.

“You aren’t studying!” she says, surprised.

He has the decency to look a _little_ guilty, but not too much. “I felt quite prepared for science, actually, so I’ve started on Socials.”

She pulls the book up to survey the cover. “A History of Reincarnation?”

He pushes the book back down with a little glare at her, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I think I’d like to write the essay about this topic, so I’m reading about it again.”

Maka closes her science book. “It’s an interesting topic, isn’t it? What do you think about it?”

He brings a hand to his chin, considering. “Well, the introduction of the concept into psychoanalysis seems to have been a turning point in its study, though I’d say its presence in Hinduism also--”

“No, I mean,” Maka says, because he’s getting on a tangent. He is _very good_ at getting on tangents, and she is good at stopping them. “Do you think it could be real?”

Hand retreats from chin to tap on the table. “...Do I believe the soul is immortal, and simply takes on a different form at the end of each life?”

She nods, and his golden eyes survey her, seeming to analyze her expression. “I don’t think we know enough about souls to make a claim,” he says. “But I can’t disprove it, so I suppose it’s possible. ...What do you think?”

Neither of them are sure why there are tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “I think… that would be amazing. I wonder…” she pauses. “If it’s real, I wonder if souls can find one another, in the next life. I wonder if they meet again and again, and it’s new and different every time.”

He considers this. “If that’s the case, do you think we’d know any better?”

Defensiveness brings her shoulders up to her ears. “I _know_ I would.”

He simply nods, because he has the feeling that he knows what this is about, and he knows when to let things lie.

Or does he?

“I guess you couldn’t convince the others to come this morning?” Kid asks her after a moment, eyes fixed back on the page.

“Nope,” she confirms, sufficiently distracted. “Getting Black*Star to wake up at 7:00 on a review day?”

“I thought… Soul might’ve come, though,” Kid says lightly.

“No,” Maka says, shaking her head. “He cares about sleep too much.”

Kid looks up at her, finally. _But there’s something else he cares about more_ , is what he wants to say.

Because Kid is an astute observer, and today he has made the following observation:

This was a conversation about souls, in every sense of the word.

* * *

Three exams down, three to go.

“I don’t wanna go to class,” Black*Star says, hands extended behind his head as they walk down the hallway. “All we’re doing is review, anyway.”

“Review is important,” Maka says, rolling her eyes. “And you won’t do it on your own, so--”

“This is for Socials, though,” he replies, and suddenly, a little glint appears in his eye that nobody misses. “We should… review for Socials by _being social_.”

“That’s not what we’re being tested--”

“I _dare_ you,” he says, and the other two boys slow their pace as they look between them, eyebrows raised, as Maka’s eyes narrow.

“You dare me to wh--”

“ _Skip_ class, miss almost-valedictorian. You won’t do it.”

“You’re right,” she says with a little sniff. “I won’t.”

He stops, rounding on her, and pronounces the lines that he _knows_ will work. “You scared?”

“Not scared.” Her voice is cool, but not as aloof as before.

“Scared.”

Her hands ball into fists. “Take it back, Black*Star.”

He grins, because he knows he has won. “Okay, fine. _Catch me_ and I will!” And he bursts into action, barreling down the hallway, his laugh bouncing off the walls. 

Maka’s quick on his heels, and the other two boys let out a sigh in tandem, hoisting their bags over their shoulders as they resign themselves to _not_ reviewing for Socials.

Minutes later, they sit with their backs against painted wood, careful to avoid the splinters, the peeling paint. It’s important to hide, and so they shield themselves around the corner of the shop, away from any prying eyes that could be watching from the schoolyard.

“Wanna bite?” Black*Star says, extending his ice cream so that it almost bumps into her cheek. She glares at him but still gives it a lick, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes.

The sun on their skin is a salve, weathering away the stress of exams with its warmth. 

But there’s a slight tousle in Maka’s hair thanks to the wind, and it feels, strange and scary as it might sound, like _change_.

“S’almost time for next class,” Soul says, eyeing Maka out of the corner of his eye.

“... Let’s… just stay?” she says, closing her eyes again.

If Black*Star has opinions about her _wanting_ to stay, he keeps them to himself, and in their own small way, they fight against the passing of time with a gentle afternoon in the sun.

* * *

Four exams down, two to go.

The music room is another oasis for them; quiet, calm, serene. 

Unfortunately, it is an ambiance that is somewhat distorted when Black*Star is pestering Soul about playing the piano.

“Aww c’mon! Just one song?” Black*Star asks, laying on his back on top of the piano as he swings his legs.

“It doesn’t _sound_ right when you lay on it like that,” Soul grumbles.

“All right.” Black*Star jumps down, calling his bluff. “All better. Go ahead, then.”

Soul hunches in on himself. It’s an attempt to look defensive, but he just looks defeated. “Don’t wanna.”

“Leave him alone, Black*Star,” Maka says as she lets the door swing shut behind her. “If he doesn’t want to--”

“Don’t _you_ wanna hear a song?” he asks her, knocking on the piano top with his wrist so that it echoes.

“I mean.” Maka stops, glancing down at the books in her hand. “I love listening to his music, but--”

“ _Love!_ ” Black*Star croons. “ _Strong_ words.”

“He… _knows_ that,” she says, a fierce flush lighting up her cheeks.

She glances up to see what Soul’s face looks like. It is impossible to discern if he _does_ know that, as he has deflated further, head against the piano in embarrassment.

“I’ll… play somethin’,” he says, voice strained against the keys.

Black*Star and Kid exchange a glance.

_They_

_are_

_hopeless_ , is what they’d like to say.

* * *

Five exams down, one to go.

The late afternoon sun slips past the trees, casting tree-branch shadows on Maka’s legs as she props a final textbook on her lap. Much as she’d _like_ to study, her gaze keeps getting drawn to the sky, to the puffy clouds that pass, pulling them closer to the end of exams.

It’s a strange time, she thinks. The in-between. They’re in between exams, in between years of school. And it’s both ephemeral and permanent, the in-between. As soon as one thing ends, they’re moving on to something new, but they _always_ face it together.

Maybe that’s _why_ this is why the four of them thrive as a group: because they exist _best_ in the in-between. Between their school and home lives, between the moments of anger and laughter, nestled between each other on grassy fields, gazes trained upward.

She loves them all so _much_ that it hurts sometimes - they’re all so different, but so similar in their own ways.

But she can still feel it - something _is_ changing. It’s _been_ changing for a while. 

She can feel it when she watches his fingers dance down the piano, when she wants to look at him for a little too long. And she _thinks_ that she catches him doing the same thing, sometimes. But she can’t be sure. Daring to hope feels like too tall a task.

The book slides through her hands and onto the ground; she can’t study when her mind is all over the place. 

Instead she stands, and walks toward another field in the distance in an attempt to leave her thoughts behind.

“Wait!” Black*Star’s voice booms in the distance. “We’re coming too!”

The sunflowers aren’t blooming just yet, which gives them enough room to walk through the stalks without feeling too closed in. Maka reaches her hand out to touch the flowers as they pass, velvety stems bringing her a sense of calm, of familiarity. They’ve journeyed to this field more times than she can count; it is a home of little time capsules and hide and seek games, forever a prequel to the scene of coming home and dumping soil out of their shoes.

Suddenly, with a startling amount of vigor, she wants to hold _on_ to this moment. No need for their last exams, for the unpredictability of summer. She wants to be right here, in their sunflower sea. Just beneath the surface of the world, with the people she loves most.

“Hey.” she says, reaching out with her voice. She’s not sure how close they are, but she knows they will hear her. “Hide and seek? I’ll be it.”

There’s a rumble of assent from various places in the field, and off she goes to find them.

Through the maze she walks, listening for crackles in the underbrush, for clothes catching on sunflower bristles.

She sees him first; catches a glimpse of white between the branches. When their eyes meet, she presses a finger to her lips, splitting a bashful smile down the middle. He’s frozen in place, dumbstruck as she points to his left and then to herself, then slips away again into the brush.

His hand reaches after her of its own accord, hanging in the air.

 _Would you let me follow if I asked?_ is what he’s dying to say.

* * *

Six exams down, zero to go.

As Maka leaves the classroom, the wind seems to rush past her with an emotional sort of finality, and it’s exhilarating.

Until she realizes that that wind is very literal, spun into a frenzy by a hurricane.

“Black*Star, stop _running again!_ ” Maka starts to yell after him. “ _Don’t get in trouble on the last day of--_ ” 

Another burst of wind flies by her, and her eyes arc toward the ceiling. _“Not you too!”_ she yells after Soul, who is laughing, running up to give Black*Star a high five.

They’re always egging each other on, she thinks. That’ll never change. But try as she might, she can’t fight the next thought that appears in her head, unbidden:

It’s a nice _change_ to see him smile, isn’t it?

Just in front of her, Kid turns back to her and asks something that sets her nerves on edge:

“Maka. Can we talk outside for a moment?”

* * *

_And onward.  
  
_

“I’m leaving,” Kid says, sitting across from her on grass, and ice abruptly enters her heart.

“...Just for the summer,” he amends, because the panic in her eyes is palpable. “Apologies. That wasn’t very tactful, I guess.”

Ice thaws quickly when fire is applied. “ _Why?_ ” Maka says, indignant. “But we had plans, where are you--”

“Father got put in charge of another school for the summer,” he says with a little shrug. “I’m going too. He needs help in the library.”

She wants to pout, but she also doesn’t want to act like a child.

“I wanted us all to be together this summer,” she says softly, hand on her notebook, where wishes from sunny days past are etched.

“... I know,” he says. “I know you don’t like… change.”

The wind whistles through the trees, making her pigtails flutter.

“But,” he continues. “ _I_ was thinking. Since things are already about to change, you could change things _more_. If you wanted to.”

She’s confused, and she knows he’s trying to give her some sort of clue, eyes boring into her just a little impatiently. When she doesn’t give him visual confirmation, he sighs, rubbing the line between his eyebrows with a finger.

“What I’m trying to say is, you could sit here with me on this grass like we’ve always done.” He levels her with a look. “Or you could go up there, and _change_ something that you’ve been wanting to change for a while.”

She follows the direction of his hand, the wind making the tree branch shadows dance on his extended finger, and she _knows_ where it leads.

He’s pointing at the window to the music room.

* * *

**_And onward._  
**

If there’s one thing Maka knows, it is how to be brave. It’s not something conscious -- it’s something that lives in her _essence_ , that has been with her since the beginning of her life. Maybe in other lives, too.

And it is this entrenched, beautiful, cosmic bravery that leads her up the stairs to burst into the music room to interrupt a rhapsody, who stares at her from the piano with a peculiar new song in his soul.

She’s breathless from the run, leaning into the door as it shuts behind her.

He’s breathless because she’s never looked at him quite that way before.

The late afternoon sun filters in through the curtains, spilling across the desks, the musical instruments. Dust motes float on the beams, catching sunlight as they pass.

“...Here,” she says, moving towards the window. “Can you… come over here for a second?” 

“Y-yeah.” He stands, edges towards her. Beside the window, the curtains flutter around them, whipped into a frenzy by a whirlwind. 

“I don’t… like change,” Maka says.

He nods. He’s known that as long and as _well_ as he’s known her.

She takes a step toward him, and it sends heat straight to his toes. “But I’d like to change… something. Okay?”

There’s a flush in _her_ cheeks, now, that has little to do with the heat.

“Okay,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper.

“Just… just tell me if--” She takes another step towards him, and he forgets to breathe as he watches the space between her eyebrows bunch together, sunlight catching on her eyelashes. “If anything isn’t--”

A shaky laugh escapes him. _Doesn’t she know he’d follow her anywhere?_ “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell you.”

She doesn’t know if souls can remember one other, from one life to the next. But she’s determined that in this existence, in this _universe_ , she will make sure that this, their tenuous connection between two souls, is something new and different and beautiful.

And so, with this in mind, she closes her eyes, closes the _space_ between them, and the dust motes burst into galaxies.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
